


De Motu Cordis

by stpitbull



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-29
Updated: 2012-03-29
Packaged: 2017-11-02 17:17:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/371455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stpitbull/pseuds/stpitbull





	De Motu Cordis

"And you will warn me if you feel your life signs dwindling?"   
  
Six sucked in a deep lungful of air and gave a rapid nod. "Yeah," she breathed, the words clouding in a gust of vapor before her lips and dissipating in the fluorescent light. "First sign'a trouble, I'll speak up."   
  
Her pace was picking up, thudding hard against the scratchy rope snug around her wrists, against the cold steel support beam pressed into her back. Her skin was prickled to gooseflesh, though she had lost track on whether the low temperature or her own anticipation was to blame.   
  
A shudder traveled through the ghost of an excited sigh, tinged lightly with crackling from Dr. Dala's artificial voicebox. Her metal arm reflected the buzzing bulbs overhead as it moved forward, sparked white light that made Six squint, and then her eyes shut tight at the first feeling of pressure from the scalpel.   
  
Adrenaline rushing through her stockstill body dulled the pain of the surface incision, the sharp blade dragging down the precise center of her chest, slowly, so slowly. The aching silence of the room wrenched her eyes open and she looked down, watched the rich beads swell and gather, sparkling like rubies in the harsh light, red and fresh as the skin of an apple against her sundrenched skin.   
  
The excited tremor was gone from Dr. Dala's voice, replaced with naked fascination, a purr of, "Beautiful," as the fat beads gathered and formed a thin trickle down the center of the courier's ribs, down the tight curve of her belly.   
  
Six had never much seen the beauty of the human body. It was her tool, a fine one, but meant to perform a purpose. Her own had the purpose of travel, and she kept it in regular maintenance. That simple. Beyond that, it was messy. Fluids secreted from too many orifices, excess weight gathered in the places of peak inconvenience, and no matter how precise her maintenance routine it still managed to pull a fast one on her every now and again, leaving her confused and frustrated.   
  
She stood with bare feet flat, spine straight, head resting against the beam as Dr. Dala pushed the scalpel just a fraction deeper, releasing more blood, the trickle growing to a modest stream and pouring fresh warmth over the cooling trail, moving past her belly and down to the dip before her thigh. Six inhaled deeply at the change in pressure, at the sting of pain, at the trail following the curve of her thigh muscle to run between her knees. And under the ministration of robotic limbs, under the gaze of artificial eyes, her body felt beautiful and electric.


End file.
